8.6.11

He finds a old stump out in the forest and sits on it. There's no one around, but he just can't shake the paranoia that someone's behind him, watching him. He shakes his head, attempting to throw the thought from his mind. He closes his eyes and slides off the stump, curling up on the ground with his back against the stump. Pulling his hood up, he rests his forehead on his knees, hugging them, hiding from life.

He bites his lower lip, determined no to lose control of what's inside him. He will keep it deep inside, squished into the smallest space available, and he will never let it out. No one will ever see it, though they may guess it exists. He squeezes his eyes shut harder, hoping to block out the knowledge that he is alive, and growing, and human.

If he could, he would shatter and float away, disappearing like a character in some animated movie. It would be painless and quick, and involve no feeling but the pleasure of flying away on the wind.

He opens his eyes again, giving up. Why should he dream of the impossible when it will bring nothing but hurt? It's stupid. He gets up, brushing the dirt and leaves off his body. Looking around, he remembers where he is, and how to get back. He starts to run, carelessly dodging lower branches and fallen logs until he gets to the paved road. He turns right, and starts to head home.